


A Row of Captured Ghosts

by naimeria



Series: This Lonely Life [2]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Feels, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Other, Rickyl, blood and gore abounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naimeria/pseuds/naimeria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The floor was slick beneath his boots, and he lost his balance for a moment, righting himself with a hand on the countertop. He stepped carefully, watching for any glass. “Lori?” he called, because something wasn’t right; things were broken, picture frames were gone – had they been robbed? “Lori? Carl!” He called again, feeling oddly calm. He was steely, relaxed but wary, and he turned the corner, going into the family room. </i>
</p><p>  <i>A man was on his sofa. He was dead. </i></p><p>-</p><p>Rick dreams, and his dreams aren't happy anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Row of Captured Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in an AU future, where everyone is dead and Daryl and Rick are all that's left of their caravan.
> 
> The title comes from the song _Welcome Home_ by Radical Face, which is pretty much the theme song for this AU, and for much of the Rickyl pairing in general. It's quite lovely, you should give it a listen.  
> 

The floor was slick beneath his boots, and he lost his balance for a moment, righting himself with a hand on the countertop. He stepped carefully, watching for any glass. “Lori?” he called, because something wasn’t right; things were broken, picture frames were gone – had they been robbed? “Lori? Carl!” He called again, feeling oddly calm. He was steely, relaxed but wary, and he turned the corner, going into the family room.

A man was on his sofa. He was dead.

The panic slapped him in the face, and the reality of the situation hit him with the force of a sledgehammer.  His wife and son were missing, and a dead man was draped over his sofa. “Lori!” He yelled, dodging around the man – he looked oddly familiar, with his graying hair and one leg missing –and running into the guest room. A couple was laying on the bed, and he was about to yell to them to get up, to help him find his family, but he squinted at their mangles interlocking fingers, then looked to their faces, and saw they were long rotten. One male and one female, the male’s black hair hidden only by a stained baseball cap, they should have looked peaceful in death, but they only looked warped and skeletal.

Rick gagged, backing out quickly before sliding on the wooden floor again. A bloody trail was leading to the bathroom. He yelled for his son once more, then slammed open the door. A woman and her assumed daughter were cradled in the bathtub together, the women’s silver hair dyed red with blood. The girl looked to be asleep, resting loosely in her arms. He brought a hand to his mouth and shook his head, a blind refusal. No, this wasn’t happening, no no no-

He turned and ran, the air acrid with death and flies following him down the hall. He burst into the bedroom, Lori’s name on his lips, and he froze, heart hammering in his chest. A man was bowed over, back facing him, and he recognized it instantly. “Shane-” he called, hand held forward, voice cracking in his desperation, but when Shane turned, Rick’s eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat.

Shane’s eyes were glassy and his mouth covered in blood and gore, something stringy and dripping hanging from his mouth. Rick let out a cry and backed into the doorframe, hands over his mouth and shoulders jerking with silent sobs. “Shane,” he said again, useless, and the creature before him canted his head and shifted to the side to stand, and Rick saw what he’d been feasting on.

Lori lay on her side, empty eyes staring into Rick’s, her blood soaking into the carpeted floor. Her neck was torn open, and what Rick could see of her chest was half gone, ribs broken and reaching towards the ceiling in a macabre image of an open cage. There were several vital organs strewn across the floor, and as Rick’s eyes followed them, they found a small hand next to hers. Shane rose to his full height, and revealed half of Carl, face pressed into the floor, three of his four limbs nowhere to be found.

Rick turned and retched, the entire contents of his stomach falling to the carpet with a dull splat. He leaned into the doorframe and sobbed, his head spinning and his stomach twisting painfully, his heart breaking in his chest, his body shaking with the force of it, breath coming in ragged gasps. He puked again, all bile, and he swayed, entire body shaking with grief. He gagged and wiped the back of his mouth even as his vision blurred, and he caught Lori’s gaze again before Shane re-entered his field of vision. The man was stumbling towards him, mouth agape to show rotten teeth still covered in Lori’s flesh, and his hands were aloft, groping at him. Rick jerked back and stumbled from the room, his back hitting the adjacent wall. He floundered and ran back down the hall, wordless cries falling on deaf ears.  He slipped on the floor for a third time and nearly fell, hand hitting the wall before he propelled himself forward and out the backdoor, tripping over the doorframe and falling to his knees in the soft grass.

His hands went to the ground and he bowed his head, weeping, entire body wracked with his sobs. He repeated Lori and Carl’s names under his breath between gasps of air, a mantra, a plea to a God he didn’t believe in. He couldn’t, wouldn’t believe his family was gone, all he knew dead in the house they’d shared together. He could still see them all, and he gagged again, breathing harsh and erattic, a step above hyperventilation. He heard a moan and he jumped, turning to his left with a jerk of his head. He watched as a legless man crawled toward him, a tacky sunhat covering most of his face. Rick climbed to his feet, shaking feebly, and turned to move around the side of the house. He almost ran headlong into two women, both with light blonde hair that was half torn out, their mouths open and their hands clawing at him. He jumped back, his own yells ringing in his ears, and his back hit something firm and muscular, and he turned with a yell as a man still freshly bleeding grabbed his neck, dark skin marred with black blood.

He flailed his arms with a cry and fell backwards, falling on his ass and curling into himself, arms held over his head. Hands found his arms and they were pulled apart, growling above his head demanding his attention even as he cried for freedom, for forgiveness, for mercy.

A man with steely eyes and mussed hair glared down at him, bloodied mouth open as he lowered his head, and he smelled of blood and earth and the bite of sweat. Rick flailed his arms, trying to break his hold, but they were closing in, the one with the brown hair’s jaws clamping hard on his wrist -

“-ick! Dammit, Rick!”

He gasped, kicking against the hold, the smell of iron in his nose and blood under his nails, and he shouted as he tried to get free, to get away.

“Calm down, man! M’right here! Wake up!”

His ears caught the words seconds after they were yelled, and he stopped his thrashing, blinking rapidly against the tears that clouded his vision. His hands hurt, his chest hurt, and he tried to sit up, to right himself, but there was a weight on him, and he began to panic again, trying to get up, but he _couldn’t._ Right has he shook his head and started to jerk away, a hand to his forehead stilled him.

“Don’t move, just breathe.”

He didn’t want to, he’d smell them again, the vomit and blood and the stale reek of death. But he did as he was told anyway, because what other choice did he have? He was relieved to find he not only smelled the fresh scent of dirt mixed with fresh grass, but there was no tinge of irony blood to be found. He drank it in, and his hand was suddenly brought up to something firm and moving, and it vibrated slightly as the man above him spoke.

“There, just breathe.”

He tried to calm his breathing, to ease the jerking sobs that still insisted on wracking his body, because he could still see her and Carl in his mind’s eye, still see them bleeding out as she watched him with unmoving eyes.  As if reading his mind, another hand moved to cup the back of his head.

“Lookit me.”

He opened his eyes and stared up, and there was Daryl. He wasn’t trying to eat him, or strangle him, or do him any harm for that matter – his calming blue eyes were boring into his, and he was literally sitting on his waist, legs on either side of Rick’s waist, one hand pressing Rick’s hand to his chest and the other fisted in Rick’s hair. His nose was bleeding sluggishly, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Reality rushed back to him, and he groaned, willing his muscles to relax.

“There ya go,” Daryl said, and let go of Rick’s hand, letting Rick’s hand fall from his chest, though he kept the other on the back of his head. “Ya back with me?”

“Yeah,” Rick said, voice hoarse and scratchy. ”’m here.”

“Good,” Daryl said, sounding satisfied.

Guilt hit Rick hard, and he looked away, only to have Daryl’s hand clench painfully in his hair. “Don’ ya be givin’ me that,” he said. “How many times have ya had ta bring me back from shit like this?”

Rick groaned. “You mean before or after you started letting me help?”

“Proof enough ya should let me do tha same,” Daryl replied easily, wiping the back of his hand across his nose lazily. “Ya got a hell of a right hook, I’ll give ya that,” he added with a chuckle.

Daryl’s relaxed tone was helping, and Rick knew he was doing it on purpose. He willed himself to try and relax into the bed, but he was still a live wire, unable to settle. “Sorry,” he said anyway, knowing Daryl would only roll his eyes.

He didn’t disappoint. “Shaddup and move over. M’still tired,” Daryl said instead, giving him a light shove. “Tomorrow I’ll make ya share an’ care, but it’s still dark, and we got shit ta do tomorrow,” he said, pressing his face into his pillow. Rick let out a gust of breath and reminded himself of where he was – not his old house, but at the new farmhouse. They’d found it three months ago, and the horses were penned in the field, no doubt sleeping like the rest of Georgia. Lori had been dead for eleven months, and Carl for seven. But even as they came to mind, he willed the gory images his subconscious supplied away, replacing them with their smiling counterparts from long ago.

He let out another sigh, his entire body deflating with it, and finally felt himself relax. He was here with Daryl, just the two of them, and they were thriving. He couldn’t ask for much more than that. So he turned over and pressed his face into musty pillow, and smiled slightly when Daryl’s arm found its way atop his waist. Tomorrow they’d talk about it, but, for now, he wanted a dreamless sleep for a change. 


End file.
